Collected Headcanons
by madelinesticks
Summary: Steam Powered Giraffe fic. These pieces aren't fanfics, as such, but are written out headcanons for various SPG things.
1. Chapter 1

The Spine's bedroom is simplistic, but it is a bedroom. It is decorated in creams and dark shades of chocolate, the furniture expensive but well made.  
The Spine was the first of the automatons to - meekly, at the time - request a bedroom. It was only after The Spine wanted one that the others decided they too wanted a room to themselves.  
Peter I had allowed it because even at first he'd noticed The Spine's fascination with humanity, and had perhaps encouraged his desire to blend in more than was kind. The Spine had selected a plain carpet to cover the boards, a black, good-quality one.  
He painted the room himself too. The footboards at the base of the walls were painted a chocolate shade, the walls a simple cream. At shoulder height (not for himself, but for an average human), he painted a swirling border in a matching shade for the sideboard. It worked well.  
To get every single piece of the furniture - matching, of course, because The Spine is very particular about how he likes things done - he saved his allowance for months on months.  
Each piece is made of a dark, good-quality wood. The bedframe - with proper headboards and footboards, of course (and long enough for The Spine to lie on), the wardrobe, his desk, a small sidetable and a chest of drawers.  
The Spine's room needed to be fairly high-ceilinged, and thus it is also very large. His desk is neat and orderly, with proper stationery and paper carefully piled and lined up on its surface. In the drawers are old fan letters he particularly liked, among keepsakes from old girlfriends and keepsakes from friends at war.  
His wardrobe too, is orderly, and his vests and shirts are arranged by colour. Light colours to the left, dark to the right. In the bottom of the wardrobe is where The Spine hides things. Old gifts from Pappy, his human make-up. Photographs of particularly precious girls.  
That is the place he knows his brothers won't look.  
His chest of drawers is simple too, and once again, it is neatly arranged. Jeans and T-shirts are in the bottom drawer, out of the way, because no one will ever believe that sometimes The Spine likes to dress casually.  
On the top of the chest he has a few busts with his hats and wigs placed ready, along with gloves and a few mouth organs. The Spine didn't often get the chance to play the mouth organs, but when he got one he took it gladly.  
On the sidetable was a framed photograph of Peters I, II and III together, the young twins nestled in their father's arms. There is another photograph of Iris and Peter together alongside it. In the cabinet beneath there is alcohol, but that is not for The Spine.  
That is for the women he (now rarely) brings home.  
The bed itself occasionally takes cream sheets that match the walls of the room, but usually The Spine selects silky black sheets that contrast his metal and feel cool and pleasant to the touch. Of course, that is less for him, and more for the women once again.  
On the wall, there are many pictures of The Spine with his brothers, with the Walters, with people at shows. None of them contain his girlfriends, because whenever he thinks about putting them up he realises that Rabbit would no doubt wish to provoke him about them.  
The Spine's room is simple and neat, and that is the way he likes it. It isn't a mess like The Jon's is, isn't like Rabbit's or Hatchworth's.  
It is his own.


	2. Chapter 2

Hatchworth's room, in truth, is little more than a side cupboard. It is alongside one of the boilers that heats the house, and it has no windows.  
Thus, the room is stiflingly hot, and dark. He has one chest of drawers that takes up half of the room, and all his clothes are stored. Atop its surface are a few dozen candles.  
Fire is preferable to the glare of electric lights for him, hypocritical though it might seem.  
Hatchworth always powers down with the door closed and his candles blown out, needing the familiar darkness that was oh-so similar to the Vault.  
Everything is very different now, but at least going into stasis is the same. He likes that familiarity. He needs it.  
Initially, Peter V had settled him into his old room. That room was large and open, with a wide window. It was neatly arranged, with a fair few books around.  
The room had been too much, and when Hatchworth had explained why (perhaps with more than a little distress), Annie had quickly settled him in the new one.  
It worked, and still works.


	3. Chapter 3

The Jon's room cannot be called a bedroom, as it does not contain a bed. There is no point in having a bed, because none of the automatons power down and call it sleep like The Spine does.  
The Jon's room is fairly small. He had no wish for a large bedroom, and was happy as was. The wallpaper in the room had once been lilac, but no one could tell that now.  
There are papers covering the wall, drawings and photographs and paintings. The Jon likes to draw. Most of the drawings are of his brothers and his family, because they make up most of Jon's life, and he likes it that way.  
On the floor, in place of carpeting, there are dozens and dozens of blankets. They are roughly arranged in a circular nest.  
Littered among the blankets are numerous trinkets and toys: dolls, clockwork toys, snowglobes and drawing implements. There are also empty jars and bottles, because The Jon likes the way they look, empty or full.  
The only piece of furniture in the room is a fairly large chest in the corner. In there is where The Jon stores clothes and shoes, as well as his small collection of carefully made music boxes.  
Iris Tonia had bought him one once, and from there The Jon had adored them. Everyone in the house knows about them, and everyone is careful about disturbing Jon when they hear the tinkling music.  
Usually The Jon will select one and set it playing as he goes into stasis. He powers down every night in the middle of his nest of blankets, curled in a tight ball. The Jon feels safest that way, and it never takes him long to drop off once settled.


	4. Chapter 4

Peter VI's room was one of the attic bedrooms. He had chosen it quite particularly, knowing that up higher it was cooler (he got hot easily but tended towards a lot of layers) and darker.  
There is a window to the side of the room, but Peter had selected thick black-out curtains that easily blocked out the sun when Peter didn't want its shine. That is to say, all of the time.  
Peter had never much liked the light, and the new burns on his skin hadn't exactly made him more amenable.  
Next to the window is Peter's bed. It's a simple thing, single, with a plain metal frame. He had very particularly selected his single bed. No one teased him about it, of course. None of the Walters were that cruel.  
The ceiling of the room slopes, which means nothing can be put on top of Peter's chest of drawers, and that his armoire is placed right next to the door. That's okay with him: it works.  
In the room, he went with keeping the bare boards rather than getting a carpet, though in the centre of the room he keeps a large, circular rug.  
This is where Peter completes paperwork and blueprints, comfortably settled on the floor. He'd never much liked desks, and gleefully kept his freedom to work on his bedroom floor, where no disturbed him primarily because of how much effort it was to reach the attic rooms.  
Peter had always been a smart boy, and now he was a smart man: he had his strategies and his ways for avoiding human interaction.  
And as long as The Spine never told anyone about the secreted lift hidden a corridor away, he could carry on avoiding people.


	5. Chapter 5

Rabbit's room is on the first floor. He generally claims this was his choice, but really Peter I had decided that Rabbit should be closest to the labs in the basement rooms. It's a large room too - carefully selected to be exactly the same size as The Spine's, because otherwise Rabbit would have loudly called out the unfairness.  
Rabbit's wallpaper was plain, a light green that matched the oxidized copper on his temples. The floor was uncarpeted and and uncovered - the boards were in the open. Rabbit didn't see the point in carpets.  
He does not have a bed. He thinks beds are "kinda stupid", and pointless. He goes into stasis stood up, in the corner, or in his chair.  
He has a desk. He has a desk because Pappy had always looked right behind his desk. And because The Spine had gotten a desk and looked all superior when he looked at Rabbit from behind it.  
Rabbit likes his desk. He doesn't write much: he can't hold a pen too well and he isn't fond of letters anyway. He does read. The Spine always tells people he doesn't, but he does. He CAN read.  
He reads books from the library in the Manor all the time, and sometimes Paige will bring him a book as a gift.  
Rabbit's room, perhaps surprisingly, is very neat. Cluttered, maybe, but it's neat. He has his wardrobe at the end of the room, and the rest of the walls are lined by tall shelves that meet the ceiling. On those shelves are his shoes, the books he owns, framed photos and trinkets and snowglobes and kazoos and kazookaphones.  
Rabbit's melodica is on one of the high shelves, and he has a record player on a small table alongside his bed. Once, he'd had a gramophone, but that had gone bad with age. Rabbit had tried not to show how upset he was about it, but that hadn't mattered much.  
The Spine and Hatchy had pooled their allowances to buy him the player, and The Jon had bought him some new records secondhand. Rabbit does love his brothers, of course, even if sometimes The Spine does annoy him.  
Rabbit has a few stuffed toys on the shelves as well. Two or three are from fans, but most of them are from Paige. She finds something funny in buying him cuddly rabbits.  
It's not like he objects. Rabbit likes them. Rabbit likes everything about his room.  
It's all his.


End file.
